Window wipes flapped hence and forth against the windshield, and all the thundering and lightning pulled a frown on Ryan's face. It was still raining. Each time he glanced outside, he saw a set of trees bordering the asphalt road on the left and right, hardly spotting any living quarters.

But his corded fingers remained stoic around the steering wheel, his smoldering brown eyes tentative throughout the way, even though darkness had immersed the road as though it was past seven. If it wasn't for the headlights, he wouldn't have seen where he was going. 

"I shouldn't have gone to that goddamn check-up! Did it have to be today? Driving in the storm is a one-way ticket to the damn afterlife," the old man complained in the passenger seat, still searching for some signal on his smartphone.

Ryan smirked.

At least it wasn't about the town's mayor's incompetence that his grandfather was now grunting. The signal was lost the minute it began to pour, and Mr. Stevens believed they needed new leadership in the upcoming election to solve this matter for good.

"Don't worry, I know this road better than you think," Ryan said confidently, and he meant it.

Growing up here, he wasn't a stranger to the bad weather and occasional storms. It was just another Saturday for him.

Ryan Stevens was the epitome of manliness; tall, athletically built, with facial features that deserved longer glances. 

It's his confidence that was mistaken for arrogance more times than he could count, but he hardly paid attention to what other people thought of him.

No, he never gave a damn about anyone's opinion as long as they didn't affect him or his real estate business that required a heart of steel sometimes.

"Still no signal!" Mr. Stevens pulled a bottle of Scotch from God-knows-where, tired of searching for the phone connection for the last thirty minutes.

Ryan's eyebrows knit together distastefully, now speeding between 30 MPH and 45 MPH. "I thought Dr. Rys forbade that," he said, glancing briefly at the bottle of scotch.

Though he drank only occasionally, Mr. Stevens was crazy for that malted barley scent of fine scotch. American, preferably. He'd only smell it sometimes and feel satisfied.

"Son, if I die, I'll just die," he said. "Might as well do it as a happy man instead of a sad, old bag of bones!"

"That famous speech," Ryan muttered, rolling his eyes.

Another round of lightning cracked the sky, flashing the road and immediate landscapes to a day-light view, but he didn't flinch.

Ignoring the sarcasm, Mr. Stevens added, "I'm not spending a few of my last days in the world like a warrior who's left his wife and kids at home. No, thank you, and make sure to send my regards to Rys." He chugged a sip and cleared his throat at the burning yet thrilling sensation.

Ryan had no means to argue, not now while driving through this treacherous weather that kept getting intense with each minute that passed. His eyes were careful on the road that had turned a bit foggy by now.

But out of the blue, he caught sight of someone in the middle of the road. Tires screeched as he skidded his Vogue on the wet road. His body hurled forward, and the bottle of scotch fell off Mr. Steven's grip.

"Goddamnit, Ryan! Are you trying to give me a heart attack!" Stevens barked, nursing his startled heart that seemed to beat faster now.

Ryan didn't move from his seat, but his head hung a bit lower as he scanned the figure, a woman, her arms wrapped around her upper body with something wedged in between—maybe a bag or jacket—but the blinding lights of his car seemed to hide her face.

"It's a woman," Mr. Stevens said while adjusting his glasses, his voice finally apprehensive.

Yes, it's a woman. Ryan didn't move yet. He studied her first through the windshield, and she looked like a normal female dressed in skinny jeans, a white blouse, and sneakers.

Why was she here, though? Why was she frozen as if she couldn't move at all even after he nearly ran her over?

"We have to help her," Stevens snapped. 

Maybe. Ryan's fingers loosened around the steering, and for a moment, he wanted to get his Glock 19 from the glove box , but he chose against it.

He could do without a gun.

"I'll go check," he finally said, determined to unravel the mystery.

It was a scary predicament, but he wasn't really afraid.

"Be careful, son," Mr. Stevens beseeched, displeased with the idea somehow.

He was worried. Criminals brew new techniques every day. 

Slamming the door shut, Ryan hastened through the rain and peered his way toward the subject of his attention. It was indeed a woman, and he had no time to think or wonder further as he approached her.

Rainwater discharged smoothly through the wavy strands of her hair, and the cotton fabric of her blouse had stuck to her skin. Her body was trembling from the cold, but Ryan could feel the dread beyond as he skated his way in front of her.

It wasn't just the cold. It was fear.

"Are you okay?" he asked her in a loud voice, just to make sure she was sane enough to hear and maybe understand him.

She didn't answer. Instead, her terrified eyes gazed up at him as if his voice had channeled her inner strength to the point she could bulge a muscle and even flex her stance.

Ryan remained patient but confused, not knowing why someone would stand under the rain in the middle of the road, while there was a bus stop right there to sustain her.

And fuck, he was getting drenched too despite the black trenchcoat he was wearing over the three-piece formal suit. But it was the least of his worry. 

"Miss, you can't be here." Without knowing, he set a hand on her slender shoulder.

She shrieked slightly and looked up at him through her squinted eyes. 

Ryan's lips parted rigidly before he said, "Come on, let's—"

Delicate arms wrapped around his chest when a blast of light flashed across the sky. He froze, startled, and it roared again, louder than before, and those very same arms tightened around him as the long-haired head buried into his trenchcoat as though life depended on him.

What the fuck is this? Ryan wondered, his breath caught.

Confusion wrecked his intelligence, but gradually he set his arms around her petite form. His gesture felt like ultimate protection if he considered how she fitted in his brace, as though she'd reached a safehouse, while in reality, they were both strangers battered under the rain which had already blocked Ryan's eyesight.

A loud honk from the Vogue snapped Ryan Stevens from his trance. His grandfather was losing patience. Car headlights were still on, the window wipes were still sashaying against the front windshield, and the rain was nowhere near a stop. Ryan puffed the dripping water off his mouth and used one hand to wipe off his eyes.

Back to the lady in rain, he uttered, "I should take you with me. Can you walk?"

Silence.

"Hey, miss, are you—" He tried to shake her, but she nearly collapsed from her wobbly knees. "Fuck!" he cussed under his breath.

She'd fainted.

All he could do at the nick of time was lift her bridal style and rush back into the car with myriad questions zinging in his head. But for all he could tell, this woman didn't seem to be someone from around here. 

Perhaps she was a tourist lost or left behind by her friends, if not a college girl on a field trip. That's what came to Ryan's mind as he resumed gripping the driving wheel soon after peeling off his trenchcoat.

___

The rain had slowed down. Ryan ventured into the guest bedroom before he could sleep. He wanted to check on Claire as it had been three hours since their arrival at his family mansion. He found her deeply lost in a slumber, her long, golden-brown hair looking shaggy and messy, but almost dry now.

Martha, the chief housekeeper, had taken good care of her.

A soft, stirred sigh escaped Ryan, wondering all over again what this blonde was possibly doing in that rain, and most of all, who was she? Standing at ease near the foot of a hard wooden bed, Ryan crossed his arms against his chest, letting his 6'3 height tower in the room with eyes focused firmly on her.

The way she'd hugged him—no, embraced him—earlier in the rain flashed back in his memories. He quickly dismissed it, for it had left some effect on him which could've been nothing but a mere curiosity. What was it that she was so frightened by? Could it be the rain, thunder, or both?

His brawny forearms fell off his chest as he marched around the bed. He pulled the blanket over to her neck, his eyes staking her face properly and closely now. Well, she looked healthy, he thought. And she was...pretty? Yeah, maybe. But he brushed it off instantly, for he'd seen way more pleasant women in his thirty-two years of life.

It was barely drizzling outside when he suddenly heard a buzzing sound from somewhere in the room. It was coming from Claire's bag that was placed on the couch.

Unhurriedly, Ryan grabbed the bag and threw off its contents on the same couch producing a hair comb, a small wallet, some keys, a powder kit, and lots of stuff he couldn't fathom right away of their names or usage. 

Women! He sighed heavily when he finally got ahold of her mobile. 

At last, some signal was back. 

He checked the screen and it was someone named 'bestie'. He glowered a bit, but eventually, he answered.

"Finally! Goodness, Claire, where are you? Are you okay?" A woman was going gaga on the other hand.

It was Gena.

Ryan edged the phone away from his ear, a faint scowl on his face.

Clearing his throat, he pressed the phone back and said, "I'm sorry, but the owner of this phone had a minor accident, so—"

"What? An accident?" Gena snapped.

"Well—"

"What happened? Is she okay? Was it the rain? Tell me, how is she?" Panic laced her voice.

Damn it! Can't she let me finish? Ryan thought irritably.

"I'm not sure exactly," he articulated, annoyed, and explained how she'd found her in the easiest way possible. "Long story short, your bestie is fine now and she's at my house." 

"Okay," she muttered, as if she was catching a breath of relief, only to ask Ryan, "but hey, how can I trust you, huh?"

Just how did I get myself into this? Ryan frowned, but his features softened the second his eyes met Claire on the bed.

"Hellow?" Gena called upon his silence.

His gaze strayed as he replied, "You have no other choice but to trust me, that's all I can say. Do you think I'd pick up your call if I had any intentions of killing her?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, or what else are you suggesting that I could do to her?"

"Well..." Gena stammered, and within a second or two, another voice filled Ryan's ear—a male voice this time.

"Excuse me." It was grandpa Robles. "How is my Claire? Is she doing okay?"

My Claire. Ryan wasn't sure why he parroted it in his head.

"Yes, hopefully, she will be fine when she wakes up in the morning," he replied, trying hard to cling onto his slim patience so he didn't appear impolite.

"Thank you," Grandpa Robles said earnestly. "Thank you very much for helping her."

"Hmm," Ryan hummed.  "In case you're worried, I'm calling from the Stevens' residence."

"Oh, I know the place," the old man replied, for the name Stevens was popular among the powerful, old haciendas in town. 

Ryan placed the phone on the nightstand as soon as they hung up. His gaze naturally found the sleeping beauty, making his lips part to emit a long, held breath.

"Claire," he hummed, and for some reason, her name had been stuck to his tongue longer than he cared to admit. 

____________

A/N: And that's the new character for ya'll. Tell me what you think of Ryan Stevens. Just one word will do 😉